The Story of the Wolf
by Tazer
Summary: This is the tale of the inherent bad guy; formidable, and terrifying, constantly used as the antagonist: the Wolf. This is his back-story.
1. Introduction: The Northern Land

In the North, the wilderness reigns challenged futilely by brave souls who venture there. The mountains grow, casting their dark shadow over the valley. The forest looms thick and dense, protecting the wild and hungry beasts of the dark. Very few venture into the forest; very few are brave enough.

In this savage country, there is a village, apart from the rest, isolated by the distance and the dangers. The closest civilization is at the very gap between the mountains, 4 days walk through the forest. This village lies on the edge of a shallow lake, when the shadow of the mountains fall on it, it appears black, but during the hours of light the colour is of the purest azure. The forest seems to grow right into the waters, melting into the eerie melt-water lake.

The darkness of the mountains and forest, and the clarity of the water and sky send the villagers' world into stark relief, only emphasizing the imaginings of magic and sorcery around them; but, there is magic in this world, in everyone and everything. Magic is, however, only the name given to the force controlling life and death. In all life forms there is magic, but only a few are strong enough to see it and even less can use it. It can break the weak minded, driving them mad; but those that can use it are given access to an unfathomable store of power. These persons are outcast and martyred, cast away from the populace, who are afraid of their power, their control, and their strength.

This village, although untroubled by magic or a witch for nigh on two centuries, was living in a cocoon of paranoia. They taught their children to fear the forest, and whatever may inhabit it, including travellers and strangers. Stories of wild animals, and witches are told to the children constantly, a warning. Wreaths of garlic were placed upon the doors each night, and every villager carried with them an amulet; all measures to ward off the wicked.

The people of this entire land have discriminated against and ostracized witches, magicians, and sorcerers. They believe that they are protecting themselves from evil, but the evil deeds that they are doing, are securing their own way to destruction.


	2. Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings

**Hey everyone! This is my first FanFiction I've posted, so please read and review. Any tips are greatly appreciated.**

_All the characters are my own._

_Dedicated to MHVS_

In this village in the North, there is a school, which all the children of the village attend. It was located near the farm fields and forest, by the outskirts. The older children would tell stories to the younger students, in order to scare them from the forest; they would also dare each other to run in, but none ever made it more than a few steps before they were spooked away, back to the school and their companions.

These older students preyed upon the younger students, bullying them, and pushing them around. They particularly enjoyed taunting the school master's son, Acheron. Acheron was born deformed and ugly; with one eye permanently closed, the other was a luminescent, queer green; he had a crooked mouth, and a hunched back. Acheron was often the butt of the children's cruel jokes, even his brothers and sisters mocked him.

On one day in early spring, the fog was just coming up from the forest, lake, and farm fields; Acheron was facing the forest, marvelling at the spooky, yet beautiful majesty of the forest. The other children were playing in the fenced in area behind him. He stared away, not seeing the approaching children, who were bearing down upon him.

The leader of the group of children, a pig-faced, whiny boy, leaned down next to Acheron's and said, "Hey there, ugly."

Acheron jumped, startled.

He didn't say anything, he knew very well what they were going to do, but he tried to ignore them anyway.

"What's the matter? Witch stolen your tongue," the leader asked, while the others laughed.

Acheron still didn't reply. This only incensedthem.

"Hey," called the boy. "I'm talking to you. Anyone there?" He lifted Acheron's face to look into it. "Yugh," he said, and then he spat into Acheron's open eye.

"Ah," exclaimed Acheron, wrenching his face away and wiping the saliva from his face.

The posse of children laughed cruelly, and the rest of them spat on him.

Acheron looked from this torture, hoping for a rescue, but was only sadly disappointed to see his father watching the cruelty with harsh eyes. Having seen that Acheron was looking at him, the school master turned his back deliberately.

A wave of wretchedness washed over Acheron. Tears filled his eyes and he looked back at the ground. The children were laughing, and enjoying themselves, in the face of his misery.

Having endured so much torture, for his entire life, Acheron needed an escape, if only for a small time. Acheron picked himself up from the wet ground. He faced the children and said, "You are all swine, and I hope that the wolves come out the forest and gobble you up."

Acheron turned and loped to the fence and jumped over it. He ran full tilt towards to forest, while the children called the school master, and to his relief no one pursued him.

He got to the forest and kept running. He ran until his legs trembled, and his lungs burned as if on fire. Shaking, Acheron leaned against a tree and caught his breath. Eyes closed and hands on his knees, the only sound that could be heard for a few minutes was his laboured breathing.

When his breath was caught, Acheron opened his eyes to find himself in the dark, damp, desolate, forest. His breath hitched, and he froze. A fear greater than anything he had every known clutched him. Again, Acheron found himself gasping for breath.

He turned and ran back the way he thought he had come. He didn't realize he was not going back the way he had come, but in the wrong direction. He ran blindly through the dense entanglement of tree branches. The fog was pressing in on him, suffocating and trapping. Adrenaline and panic coursed through his veins, pushing him faster, but the faster he went, the more he stumbled.

Acheron looked into the forest and saw only the evil eyes of evil beasts, peering past the great trees. At one turn Acheron thought he was running straight into the midst of a pack of wolves, at this he let out a cry of fear, which upset a raven from a branch above his head.

Eventually, Acheron fell over a tree root and lay sprawled in the forest, sobbing from fear. Once the fear had subsided, Acheron lay listening to the forest, which didn't sound half as scary as it had seemed. A sparrow was singing a love song, and the squirrels were chattering and laughing gaily, all the while, a creek chuckled softly. He got up and made his way to the water.

The water was cool and clear; it helped Acheron to recover himself and face his present problem.

"Well, I should think that this river leads back to the lake," he thought. "If I follow it downstream, I shall be able to get back to the village."

And so, he set off downstream, following the water. As he journeyed through the forest, Acheron thought of the beauty in the forest, the fantastic colours of the flowers, and the greens of the trees. The Sun was just setting behind the mountains, his cool glow lending the mist a beautiful, yet eerie shimmer.

Acheron saw fireflies and glow-worms flying through the air and thought. He thought of things that he never could think of before; magic, happiness, and nature. He had been brought up to fear magic, he had never known true happiness, and human nature in his own village had taught him to be wary of men. His thoughts were optimistic about his return, he thought he could be braver when the children bullied him

As the night got colder, Acheron drew his threadbare coat more tightly around himself, clutching for the extra warmth. Now, the fog didn't seem so mystical, but more of a nuisance and pain for him. His thoughts turned to the cold memories of his old home, and the cruelty of his family.

He thought of sleeping in a bed with the three other boys, while the girls curled up under a thin blanket, shivering, all while their father's snores sent tremors through the house. All the siblings were awake but they didn't say anything, tired but too cold to sleep.

Their mother had died giving birth to Acheron, contracting an illness during her pregnancy. The school master had told them that story, and the children torment Acheron by saying that their mother had taken one look at him, and died of his ugliness.

Acheron was startled from his desolate thoughts by a strain of music floating through the forest. It was the most beautiful song that he had ever heard. A high melody, spoken in a language which seemed to Acheron as if wherever they spoke that language, must be the home of the spirit of water itself.

It was coming softly along the river, only a faint hymn of magic. The song was coming from further up the river, and Acheron felt compelled to find the source. The music swooped in high and low pitches, going through moods of happiness and anger. And as Acheron moved forward, the song got louder and louder, until up the stream, through the fog, he could see a female figure perched on an outcropping of rock. She was leaning over the edge, staring into the water.

Acheron moved closer, to this mysterious woman, shrouded in clouds. There was a thick aura of magic surrounding her, inviting him closer, but he dared not. He wanted to continue listening to the song.

"If she sees me, she shall surely send me away. I must keep my silence," he thought.

She continued to sing, and to Acheron's amazement the forest and the water seemed to be responding to her song. The trees were swishing in time to the song although there was no wind. The water was swirling in patterns, like dancers would to the sound of a minstrel.

As the movements of the song, and the forest reached its climax, a figure rose up from the water. The fog swirled and moved away, giving Acheron a perfect view of the scene. His astonishment was paramount, never before had he seen such a thing as this. The woman had lovely long black hair, and her face glowed in the bright moonlight. Beside her was a man, made of water and river stones, his figure was distinctly human, but he had no discernible features; he shimmered in the moonlight.

The dryad added his voice to her aria, and together they made such a lovely song that Acheron began to weep. The harmony changed from the happy song it was, to a sad, forlorn tale. He wished he was able to understand this beautiful language, for he felt that it was telling him a story. As they sang he thought of his own life, his miseries and his hopes.

Acheron took a step back, intending to return home, but backed into a small sapling, covered with dew, which showered him with the droplets of water.

The woman and the dryad turned their heads, voices stopping at once. The dryad looked back at her before dropping back into the water. The forest was silent, the only sound was the gurgle of the brook.

"Hello?" called the woman, her voice slightly accented.

Acheron stepped out from the forest. He stared at his feet, wishing that he could just leave. He knew she would send him away when she saw him.

"Hello," he mumbled.

"Ah, there you are." Her voice carried the melody from the song. "Come here, you don't have to be afraid. I won't hurt you."

Acheron moved a little closer.

"What's your name," she asked.

"Acheron," he replied, chancing a glance at her face.

If she noticed anything upsetting about him, she didn't show it.

"I'm called Elyna," she told him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm lost," he said truthfully.

"Oh," she said, "and why are you in this forest?"

So, Acheron told her all about his life in the village; the bullies, his family, and his woes. The woman listened and sympathized with him, but said very little herself.

Acheron had felt very awkward and homely before they had started talking, but as the conversation continued he forgot his inhibitions and relaxed. Stories of strangers and witches in the forest crossed his mind, but he didn't think that this kind woman could be anything evil, surely not a witch.

"But, what about all of this," asked Acheron, the question had been burning inside of him for the entire evening.

"It's late--," she began.

"But, I--" interrupted Acheron.

"Acheron, it's late, and you should be getting home. We've stayed too long anyway," she said, sternly.

"But--"

"If you return, I shall explain all of your questions," she said.

"I may? I may return," he asked, elated.

"Yes, you may come back any time you wish," she said.

"I shall! I shall return soon!"

"Then away with you," Elyna smiled. "Oh, and to get back, you must follow the river upstream. That will lead you back to the lake, when you get there, you shall find a a boat there, and if you tell it were you want to go, it will take you."

"But, why--" started Acheron.

"I will tell you when you return

"Farewell." Acheron stood up to leave and began making his way up the river, back the way he had come.

"Until we meet again," she said, waving.

Acheron continued up the creek, happiness giving him a spring in his step. For the first time in his life, he had a friend, someone who cared about him. His elation lasted all the way to the boat, when he was reminded of the curious nature of the woman. Her mystical disposition gave Acheron a strange feeling.

When he got into the boat, uncertain of what to do and sceptical of its magic, looked around for oars, but he didn't find any. He eventually announced to the boat that he wished to go to the village by the lake.

The boat took off swiftly through the mist, which had congregated again over the lake. The village was invisible to Acheron until it was just in front of him. He directed the boat to an alcove, protected from the eyes of the villagers by a weeping willow, and a gate of bulrushes. He walked to his hovel, tired and thoughtful.

He entered, undressed, and crawled into bed with his brothers. No one stirred in the house, his father's light snoring filled the room, but Acheron didn't find it difficult to drift to sleep.

He dreamed he was walking through the forest again, but this time there was no fog. It was mid-afternoon and the Sun was shining on the world, in a glorious array of light. He found the river which flowed the wrong way, and followed up to where the woman had been. She was there with her back to him. Although Acheron didn't call out, she turned as though he had. She looked upon him cruelly and let out a wicked witch's laugh, which turned into the laugh of the bully, and Acheron was transported into a new dream where he was in the school yard again, being bullied. The bully sneered, and then turned into his father. His father began to shout but Acheron couldn't hear his words, everything sounded as if there was cotton jammed in his ears.

Suddenly something grabbed Acheron by the arm and pulled him out of bed and slammed him onto the floor. Acheron blinked awake, startled to find himself on his feet. His father was yelling at him, and his words were no longer fuzzy and indistinct. Acheron was able to hear his father's harsh words and chastisement. All the while, his brothers and sisters watched solemnly.

Acheron was driven to tears by his father's ruthless anger. At this, his father stormed out angrily, slamming the door behind him. The children were left in silence, Acheron stood standing in the middle of the floor, stunned and shaking.


End file.
